Are You Afraid of the Dark?
by KiwiStar
Summary: When Randy reveals his fear of the number 13, it only leads to torment and humiliation. What happens when he's forced to share a room with CM Punk? Will luck be for losers? And is Punk hiding a phobia of his own?


Guess who's back? Yup, it's meeeee. Told ya I wouldn't disappear. Well, here's a oneshot from me, something to get my muses going and dislodge that rock that's been hiding them in a cave. Anywho, I don't own anybody mentioned in this fic. The individuals in this fanfiction are trademarked by the WWE, with the exception of Twilightsparkle and Pinkiepie, they are trademarked by My Little Pony. Moving on, please sit back and enjoy. Oh, and excuse the grammatical/spelling errors, I wanted this up as soon as I could...lol. Anyway, read, please review, and enjoy;). Oh, and I most likely will be changing my Penname. It's a new start for me, so watch out for that. Now, on with the fic.

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"This is total bullshit." Randygrowled, running his hand over his chin as he read the list taped on the back of the door. The duffel bag slipped from his finger, landing on the floor with a dull thud. "No…I'm _not_ putting up with this." A low chuckle came from behind him and soon a muscular arm was draped around his shoulders, a face appearing next to his.

"What's wrong, kiddo?"

Randy glared as best as he could at the man. "The room listing."

"What about it?" The man, Paul "Triple H" Levesque inquired.

"I'm in room 13."

"So…" Paul trailed off.

"13 is an unlucky number." Randy mumbled.

A pause came from the older man, who bit his lip and nodded, backing up slowly and turning to face the rest of the locker room. "Randy? You're afraid of the number 13?" He responded loudly, ensuring that the dilemma was heard by all of the occupants.

"Ass." Randy hissed, turning to defend himself from the inquires and heat he knew he was going to get. "I-I'm not…_afraid_, per se, just…not a fan."

"Mmmhmm, if it helps you sleep at night." Paul laughed. The door opened, allowing Phil to saunter in, yawning as he dropped onto the bench. Paul smirked, poking Randy and then pointing to Phil. Randy rolled his eyes. Of _course_ Paul was going to tell the one man on the entire roster who often vocalized his feelings on luck, that he was antsy about sleeping in Room 13.

"Phil! Check this out, Randy's afraid of the number 13."

"What?" Phil sat up, clearly interested. Randy felt his cheeks burn.

"I-I'm not afraid. I just don't like the number. Bad shit happens to me around the number 13." Randy tried to reason, but Paul would have none of it.

"Like?" Phil pressed, running a hand through his short hair. He had grown accustomed to how it took him little-to-no time to run his fingers through it, rather than the eight seconds it took before he had it shaved. He involuntarily shivered as the drone of the razor buzzed in his head. Shaking it off, he listened intently to the St. Louis native standing before him. Randy sat across from him.

"It all began when I was five…"

"Oh boy, here we go. The life story of Randal Keith Orton." Paul grumbled, only to be smacked in the gut by Mike.

"Shut up, I wanna hear this."

"He's told us this story a million¾"

"Shut up, Paul." Phil chided him. Paul rolled his eyes, throwing a towel over his shoulder.

"Where are you going?" Mike asked.

"Taking a shower."

"You didn't even have a match." Mike stated, "why would you need a shower?"

"Maybe the water will drown out Randy's sob story." Paul replied, walking past the trio and through the locker room before turning into the tiled shower area.

"Carry on." Phil said, gesturing towards Randy.

"Well, before Paul threw a hissy fit…where was I? Oh yeah, I was five. Anyway, my dad had gotten me this bunny, and…"

"A bunny….?"

"My dad hated cats, mom hated reptiles and I didn't want a dog, we couldn't take a dog on the road with us." Randy explained. "Moving on…I named him Sir Fluffy-Carrot-Muncher."

"Sir…" Phil began before Randy cut him off.

"He was fluffy and liked carrots, back to my story", Randy huffed, "I had that rabbit for years when it died."

"Rabbits die, Randal…it's not exactly a childhood-ruining moment."

"Let me finish, goddamn." Randy shook his head as he drew in a breath. "He got out of his cage and I was looking for him. Well, we had a carpenter in that day, working on my room. So, of course, as I was looking for him, my dad made me leave so the guy could but the new carpet down. A few hours later, Sir Fluffy-Carrot-Muncher was still nowhere to be found. My room was finished, and I was allowed back in there. I-I saw a lump around the foot of my bed, and there was blood soaking through…" Randy paused. "A-and the guy said there had been a lump in the carpet, and he thought it was just a handkerchief or something, and he hammered it down and put my bed on it. We never found Sir Fluffy-Carrot-Muncher ever again."

"That's…awful, Randy." Mike put a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I read that in an urban legend before." Phil stated. Mike backhanded him in the chest. "Ow, you're smacking everybody today. What the hell did I do?"

"His rabbit was murdered, Phil."

"What does it have to do with the number 13?

"It was the 13th of the month, Friday the 13th, I was 13, my age when I got him plus how many years I had him equals 13." Randy explained. Phil blinked silently.

"Is that it?"

"No. I got dumped on the 13th. On my 13th birthday they but a 'b' in front of my name and made the cake pink, my 13th girlfriend turned out to be a psycho stalker, oh, and I crashed my first car…it had 13 on the license plate."

"Randy, you're just tying coincidental events with a number, that's it. There's no way 13 is out to get you." Mike said.

"By the way, I got you a book. It's called _The Number 13_." Phil laughed. "Get it? 'Number 23'…'Number 13'?"

"Ass." Randy mumbled. "I shared with you a very, very emotional tale, and all you guys do is laugh." Randy threw his hands up in despair and shook his head.

"Hey," Mike interjected, "I didn't laugh."

"Screw this, I'm going to the hotel." Randy shook his head and threw on his jacket. "I'll see you guys tomorrow." He waved and left the building. As he walked to his rental, he hear footsteps. Whipping around, he yelped and jumped as Phil bumped into him. "Christ, Phil…"

"Sorry, man." The Chicago native chuckled. "Jumpy there, tiger?"

"Shut up." He smacked Phil's shoulder. "What do you want?"

"We're roomies!"

"Aw shit." Randy mumbled. "I suppose this means you want to ride with me?"

"Good job, man! We're being eco-friendly." Phil smirked, nudging Randy with his elbow as he threw his stuff into the trunk. Sliding into the passenger seat, he buckled himself in. "Ready when you are." He called through the window. "There's a storm coming in, Randal, we have no time to dink around."

Randy uttered a low growl as he went around the car and took his seat behind the wheel. "Do you have the directions?"

"Yeah, it's on 13th Street."

"You've got to be shittin' me."

"Dude, I don't shit." There was a pause. "You know what I meant." Phil stated quickly.

"Whatever." Randy smirked.

"Fine, Mr. Grumpy-Pants." Phil huffed.

"I'm not in a good mood, Phil."

"Luck is for losers."

"Which technically means bad luck is for winners."

"Nooo, I never specified what kind of luck 'luck' is."

"So what? I'll have my own interpretation of it." Randy defended himself as he pulled out onto the road. They drove for a while in silence. "So, what are you afraid of?"

"Pfft, nothing."

"Really? Nothing?" Randy scoffed. "Everybody's afraid of something."

"Not me."

"Mmmhmmm…" Randy murmured. "Sure you aren't." He chuckled dryly as he came up onto the street with the hotel. He pulled up alongside the road. "Do you mind driving? The number 13 makes me nervous."

"Dude, it's twenty feet away! Nothing bad will happen in twenty feet!" Phil stated. The look in Randy's eye made him shake his head. "Seriously? Dude…fine." He rolled his eyes and switched seats with Randy. They made it to the parking lot and into the lobby of the hotel.

"I really don't want Room 13." Randy muttered as they left the front desk and made their way down the hall. The dynamic duo found the room. "Give me the key." He demanded. Phil handed the key over, muttering a sarcastic 'Yes, sir'. Rolling his eyes, Randy jammed the key into the lock, twisting it. The lock wouldn't budge.

"Turn it the other way." Phil chided, but Randy ignored him. He continued to try and turn the key. As he was putting all his weight into it, the key snapped.

"Christ!"

"Told ya." Phil said in a singsong voice. "Now what do we do, Sherlock?"

"This." Randy replied, backing up against the wall.

"You know that only works in movies, right?"

"I can do it." Randy stated.

"You'll hurt yourself." Phil told Randy, checking the state of his nails.

Randy ignored him again, running at the door with full speed and throwing all his weight against it. There was a thud, and a drag as Randy slid down to the floor, clutching his shoulder.

"Told ya." Phil smirked. "Bad shoulder?"

Randy nodded with a grimace. Phil walked up to the door, gave it a nudge with his shoulder, and the door swung open.

"Would ya look at that." Phil marveled as Randy got to his feet and shuffled inside. The two settled down for the evening. As Randy was about to turn off the light to the bathroom, Phil stopped him.

"Leave the light on, and leave the door open a crack."

"Why?" Randy asked.

"So I don't play "Find the Furniture With My Shins"?" Phil reasoned. Randy smirked.

"You're afraid of the dark, aren't you?"

Phil looked appalled. "What…no! Me? God no…okay, maybe a little."

"I knew it…fine, I'll leave it on." Randy did as he said and crawled beneath the covers.

Several hours later, Randy was dreaming about Vince being attacked by Pinkiepie and Twilightsparkle. "RANDAL!" He heard a voice yell and he wiped his face.

"Huh?" He mumbled, still somewhat asleep.

"Randal! Come here!"

He knew that voice. There was only one person that called him by his full name, besides his mother, who obviously wasn't here. Looking over to the seconds bed and finding it empty, he nodded. Phil was in the bathroom, yelling. Motivating himself to get out of bed, he shuffled into the bathroom to find Phil frozen in terror. The 'Straightedge Superstar' had nestled himself between the shower rail and the ceiling. He was crouched over, clinging to the rail and quavering. "Randy." He squeaked. "Help me."

"What the hell, Phil? How in God's name did you get up there?"

"Now is not the time for questions, Randal! Kill it!"

"Kill what?" Randy was barely awake and still trying to comprehend why in God's name Phil woke him up at such an ungodly hour.

"THAT!" Phil said, pointing to the mirror. Randy followed his finger and screamed.

"Sweet baby Jesus!" He yelped, climbing onto the ledge of the shower/bathtub and pulling himself up to crouch beside Phil. How they could both fit their asses in such a tightly confined space was probably beginning to push the law of physics.

"What the hell is going on in here?" They heard another voice ask. Their room was conjoined with another, which just happened to be housing Paul. The blond made his way inside via the broken door and found the two men in the bathroom. "How the hell did you two fat asses get up there?"

Ignoring the insult, they both pointed towards the counter. Paul followed their gaze and screamed. "Holy shit, mother of my children, sweet banana peppers smothered in peanut butter and served with a side of fries!" Paul wormed his way up next to the two frightened Superstars. "It's huge!" Paul whimpered.

"I know, I hate cockroaches." Phil shivered.

"Me too." Randy agreed.

"Cockroach?" Paul asked quizzically.

"Yeah…what did you scream about?" Phil inquired.

"The…spider." Paul answered, avoiding their gaze.

"You mean the one that's hardly the size of my pinkie nail?" Randy asked.

Paul nodded.

"The one that's a common house spider?" Phil replied.

Again, the Cerebral Assassin nodded.

"The itsy, bitsy one that climbed up the water spout?" Randy said.

Paul nodded.

"You're meaning to tell me that you, Paul Levesque, is afraid of spiders?"

"Those bastards are freaking terrifying!" Paul defended, but was drowned out by the laughter of Phil.

"Hey, you're afraid of the dark!" Randy stated.

"Phil's afraid of the dark?" Paul chuckled.

"Shut up." Phil growled through clamped teeth. The thundering and lightning outside had grown more furious as the night went on, and now was at its peak. The lights flickered before dying. "The power went out." Phil murmured, clutching Randy's arm.

"I'm well aware of that." Randy grimaced; Phil had grabbed the shoulder he rammed into the door.

There was silence for a few minutes before Paul whimpered.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" Randy asked.

"There was something on my arm. Is it your hair?"

"Phil is on the other side of me, and I have a buzz cut…no, it's not my hair. It's an old hotel, it's probably a spider."

The lights flickered for a moment, confirming Randy's statement, before flickering off again.

"AW SHIT! GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF!" He smacked his arm, and clutched Randy's free one in a death grip.

"I hate the number thirteen."

"Luck is still for losers."


End file.
